THE
THE lost Wilfred having been found, it seems

proper to take this opportunity of informing the reader of the events which followed his banishment from home.

On leaving Holmcastle, as we have already seen, he took a third class ticket to London; but on reaching Preston Junction, in pursuance of a plan he had already formed, he left the train, and took a fresh ticket to Liverpool. On arriving at that filthy and rowdy city, he crossed the town, and took a small room in a little dirty inn in a small thoroughfare off Water Street, which, however, rejoiced in the imposing title of the "Great Atlantic Hotel." Having taken his two bags upstairs, Wilfred

sat down to consider his prospects and his future course of action. His after-plans he had already to a certain extent determined on; at present the allengrossing, overmastering desire of his heart was to get away from England as soon as possible. The question was, how to effect it. The poor lad took out and counted his whole stock of money. The amount was small, too small he feared to suffice for the payment of even a steerage passage across the Atlantic, even if he should find a ship about to start at once. It suddenly struck him that he could pawn or sell some of his clothes, and the next moment he had opened his bags, and spread out his slender wardrobe on the bed and floor of the tiny chamber he occupied. A spare suit of clothes and a few flannel shirts were nearly all he would want for his present purpose, and he soon made his selection, packed the rest in a single bag, and was speedily on his way with them to a pawnbroker's. There was no disgrace in this; but when Wilfred found himself in a small, stuffy compartment in the shop, and confronted by a small, yellow-haired Jew, with inflamed eyes of a waterish blue, and of most villainous aspect, he certainly felt far from comfortable. The salutary rule of "first come, first served" was observed in the establishment of Messrs. Cohen and

Hart, and Wilfred had to wait until an old Irishwoman, who bore the appearance of a resuscitated mummy-so wrinkled and puckered was her facehad transacted her business.

“What! the same petticoat again, Mrs. Maguire?" said the young Jew; "I wonder you're not ashamed to bring that old rag again to a respectable establishment like this."

"Faith, thin," said the old woman, "but it's a dacent undergarmint intirely, and it's the wearing of it I'd rather injoy this could weather; but what can an ould body like me do wid an ould husband bed-ridden with the rheumatiz, and me daughter's family down with the faver? sure ye'll be givin' me eighteenpince upon it agen, Mr. Cohen, and good luck to ye."

"Devil a ha'penny will I give more than a shilling, Mrs. Maguire, and that's more than it would sell for to a rag merchant."

"Och, honey, for the love o' heaven, give me one-and-three."

"A shilling, a shilling, a shilling, and no more!" cried the Jew; and taking out a shilling from the till under the counter, he threw it across to the poor old creature, who clutched it in her skinny claws, and then put it into some receptacle under a thin

and ragged, but clean gown, which draggled around her emaciated form.

"Wait outside till I come out," whispered Wilfred to the old woman, who, receiving her pawn-ticket, left the shop.

"And now, young gentleman, what can I do for you?" asked Mr. Cohen, with a sly leer.

"I want to know what you'll give me for these clothes and this leather bag," answered Wilfred, as he laid them on the counter.

The Jew spread out and examined the things one by one, and then named a sum which appeared to the owner preposterously small.

They must be worth much more than that," said he.

The Jew seemed to examine the things more narrowly than before, and then he said, "Well, we'll see what can be done; but as we always like to do things right and above board, I'd like to know your name first."

Wilfred thought this a singular request, but he reflected that it might be the rule of the establishment. But what name should he give? His father had commanded him to change his surname—that he would do-it was his father's name, and in that respect he would obey his father's command, however

unjust. But his Christian name was his own; no one had any right to deprive him of that; and so, after a pause, during which the Jew was narrowly scrutinising his face, he answered, "Wilfred Smith."

"And the linen's all marked 'W.M.,' and 'W.M.''s engraved in a mollorgrum on the lock of the baghe, he! I thought so," cried the little Jew, triumphantly. "But I say, mister, I think yer ought to be dev'lish glad to get what I offered, and have no questions asked. Don't yer know I might get yer into a peck of troubles along of them fash'nable articles?"

Why, what do you take me to be?" cried Wilfred, turning very red.

"May be a walley," answered the Jew. "What's that?" asked Wilfred.

"What's that? Why, a walley-de-sham, stoopid,'' responded Mr. Cohen, severely; "a genelman's servant as has left his place without giving a month's warning-that's what I mean."

"You don't mean to say," said Wilfred, "that you think I stole those things, do you?"

"Stole 'em! no," responded the Jew, grinning from ear to ear, we never uses bad language in this respectable establishment; we might get prosecuted for libel if we said as a genelman stole